Getting to know you
by CelticLady
Summary: Johnny picks up a girl who 'ran into him' at a club, but is surprised by her compassion. A friendship starts between them mostly against her will and forces them both to deal with their pasts and their problems. Romance only between OCs


Getting to Know you

Romance in this story is strictly OC+OC

I do not own the creations of Jhonen Vasquez.

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Megan Spenser closed her eyes and swayed to the music.

Normally, she didn't like clubs, or the sort of music they played, but the smoky lights provided an atmosphere of anonymity, and the pulsing rhythm was the sort one could lose oneself in.

God, did she ever need that escape, now more than ever.

Between college and a hectic job, precariously balanced with her odd life, she was at her end of patience.

So, as she usually did at points like this, usually about once every two months, she would seek out the nearest club for release, which she found not in the drinks (She avoided the alcohol anyway, she hated the sharp edge and bitter taste she detected in every alcoholic beverage she'd ever sampled, leading her to simply quit trying them). No, Megan Spenser, or 'Spense', as her equally quirky friends called her, sought refuge in the dance, giving into the beat of the music and dancing out the frustration and overcaffienated buzz in her head. She'd go at the end of work (After changing out of her scrubs, of course,) and dance for hours until her head felt livable again, after which she'd drive home in her comfy royal blue Volkswagen Bug, and tuck herself into her cozy bed with a book and one of her CDs going (This last part, the books and music was part of her daily routine, being both an avid music lover and an happy bookworm.) Tonight, she thought, before she detached her mind, something by Anne McCaffrey, or perhaps one of the classics? And the original London cast version of the Phantom of the Opera soundtrack, or maybe the album "Juliet's Dream" by D'Goya; she did love those haunting Celtic ballads, and it was a good way to relax after a long shift at the hospital followed by this emotional purge at the club… Well, she'd think about it later. After all, she had all the time in the world, for now: The night was her time.

The crowd was bigger tonight, and louder, but she hadn't intended to engage in any illogical backseat romances, so she ignored the noise and the crush of humanity around her. If a passing man tried to cop a feel, she'd simply bend away, dancing away like a leaf in the wind. Vulgar comments she ignored. Other people's unacceptable behavior was not her concern. If they wished to make fools out of themselves with lascivious remarks, she simply would not give them the satisfaction of acknowledgement. Although she did wish, just once, that someone sane and decent would approach her with an opening different than the usual hormone-crazed-gorilla-ish remarks. Maybe just a shy 'hello', or 'interesting crowd, eh?'.

The squashed that thought viciously.

It was hard enough getting through nursing school and her job as an orderly without the inevitable complications that accompanied a relationship.

Maybe when she graduated.

She sighed, drifting off into thoughts of a gentle, interesting man with kind eyes. Maybe a doctor; someone who understood her dedication to helping the sick and injured.

Other people didn't understand the allure of the job, but nurses were the unsung heroes of the medical world. Maybe the doctors did the actual surgery, prescribed medications, but the nurses handled the aftermath, helping the patients with the little things that were really so important, comforting families, administering the medications, making sure that the patient survived and recovered as best they could. Medicine was a war against death, and nurses were on the forefront.

It was with this attitude that she did the very best she could, working on her RN and a minor in Psychology.

Her job as an orderly was messy, and the hours were long, but she dealt with the raw human element of a hospital and got the opportunity to get to know the patients. Crazy as it sounded, she loved her job, despite all of the mess, and noise and chaos. Or perhaps because of them.

On a personal note, her life was just as raw and messy; just as real and vivid. She kept in touch with old friends from high school who she'd known forever. As always, she was the confidante, and often heard more than she ever needed to know, particularly about her friends' sex lives. Her parents, she rarely heard from. She suspected they were still celebrating 'getting the unplanned freak out of the house'. Her grandparents were still in great shape and loved to travel, but she and her grandmother still called one another at least once a week. These phone calls were very important to her. Her cousin, a spoiled rich girl still adjusting to life without supervision was off in Paris with her latest boytoy and calling regularly to amuse Megan with her latest antics, which she supposed the other girl intended her to sigh over and envy.

In spite of all of the rough edges, Megan loved her family, and her friends, and her life, but the stress got to her now and then.

Her mind was happily drifting again when someone bumped into her. She had the brief view of a tall, painfully skinny man with spiky dark hair before her world went dark.

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He hadn't planned this. That was the thought that echoed in his mind now.

The girl was interesting though, or had the potential to be.

She wasn't dressed like most of the club-rats he'd killed that night; she wore only a loose, fawn colored boho skirt and a comfy short sleeved shirt. And no makeup, save a bit of berry scented lipgloss and what appeared to be some concealer over the slight rings under her eyes.

Her curly light brown hair smelled like cherries, which, he supposed was a point in her favor, and her eyes had been huge and grey and surprised when she'd turned around. He wondered if an apology had been on her lips when he'd knocked her out.

Probably not.

Her appearance was probably carefully planned to work the angle of innocence to lure in men for free drinks and cheap sex.

The fact that she looked so innocent and vulnerable there, — shackled to the wall, skin dead white, hair tousled, a trickle of blood escaping her parted lips— incited disgust rather than pity.

Why should he fall for her game?

Johnny C. was insane, not gullible.

A cell phone rang in her pocket, to the tune of a vaguely familiar song, and he picked up the phone, but didn't speak.

:Hello? Spense? Hm… must be a different answering system… Very odd, by the way. Anywho, it's me, Ella. Remind me again, why did I marry Charley? Yeah, he's a gladiator in the sack, but lately he's never around… Please call me back, Spense, I need another woman to talk to… I miss him so much… and I'm pregnant…. I need you to tell me it's all gonna be ok… Please call back… you always know what to say…:

The woman hung up. Johnny felt an odd sensation, hearing the person on the other end. Dismissing it, he hung up and replaced the phone in the pocket of her comfy denim jacket.

He almost jumped when he heard her stir.

"Uggghhh…"She groaned, "I feel like I've been hit by a Mac truck…" Dazedly, she looked around, then noticed the chains. "Well… Fuck." She laughed, "Oh god, is this a joke?" She asked, "Did Bailey hire you to do this? It seems like his warped sense of humor!" She grinned at him, "C'mon, hun, how much did that sunva pay you?"

Johnny stared, "Ahh….no. See, I'm going to kill you, just in a different way than the other assholes in the club. More creatively, and certainly more painfully. You ran into me, you know."

She stared, and he watched as bitter comprehension warred with optimistic naivete. "Well… th..that's just mean. An accident's an accident, and I was going to apologize, even though YOU ran into ME." She chided.

"Oh, shut the hell up." He said, getting bored. "Aren't you going to scream or something?"

"And give you the satisfaction?" She sounded mildly amused, "I think not. So, you got a name?"

"I'm Johnny C. but since this is as close as I've come to a civilized conversation in a very long time, you can call me Nny."

The girl thought a moment, "…Nny… As in the last three letters of Johnny?"

He stared, "You'd be surprised how many people don't get that! So, who are you?"

"Megan Spenser. Friends call me Spense."

"Then I'll call you that! We're going to be bestest bestest friends until I kill you! Fortunately, I seem to be in somewhat of a creative slump, right now, so it could be awhile. After all, you can't just kill your bestest bestest friend any old way like anyone else." He replied.

Megan sighed, "I suppose not."

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Megan managed to wait until he left to dissolve into silent tears. She was on the ground, arms chained up and to the sides by the wrists and elbows. Carefully, for something dug into her skin painfully, she eased herself up to her knees so that she could hide her face in her shoulder. Desperately she made as little sound as she could, muffling what small sounds escaped her with her shoulder.

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When Johnny remembered her, it was about a day later. He found her slumped against the wall, out cold, salt streaks turning her pale skin silver.

Odd, he hadn't heard anything.

He had to respect that self-control, though.

In spite of her hopeless situation, she hadn't begged; hadn't made elaborate promises.

She'd saved her tears for privacy.

"Why don't you just kill me already?" Spense's voice cut through his thoughts.

"Because I haven't figured out how I want to do it."

"If you really consider me a friend, you won't drag it out. I'm going mad down here, and I'm missing calls from people who need me. Nana's probably worried sick!"

"When I kill you, I'll be alone again."

"So why do it?" She asked.

Nny gave a cry of frustration, "Well what else can I do?"

She sighed, "You could let me live, if you wanted a friend."

"But I CAN'T!" He screamed, seeming truly bewildered.

"Why not?" She asked softly.

He sank to his knees in front of her, face buried in his hands, "I don't know…" He mumbled, "I just don't know… I want to know… I should know.. .but I don't…" He sobbed, "Why am I still broken? WHY? I thought they fixed me!"

Nny felt something pat his head lightly. He opened his eyes. Spense was raised at an awkward angle, arm moved painfully in such a way that, despite the tight constraints, she managed to touch him. He observed her cautiously as she spoke.

"Look, Nny, I don't know what's wrong with you. I'd be glad to help you—it's what I do—but I'm not going to live long enough, so all I can do is say I'm sorry you're hurting, and I hope it gets better."

He knew that the sharp metal spikes in the shackles made her position excruciating. And the blood running down her arms told him that he'd attached the cuffs tightly.

But she was sorry _he_ was hurting?

Who's really the dirty one?

He sighed, standing again. Without thinking about it, he opened the shackles and pulled her to her feet. Her knees buckled and Johnny surprised himself by catching her and taking her upstairs. He opened the door then, and set her on her feet outside, handing her her purse. "Go." He said.

"Get out of here, Megan. You don't belong here."

She nodded dumbly, big smoke colored eyes blinking in the sudden light as she backed away slowly.

"Go." He repeated. "But I'll find you again when I want to."

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When Megan finally reached the remains of the club, it was with a trembling hand that she put the key into the ignition and drove slowly home. When she got there, the message light was flashing insistently, but she decided to leave it until tomorrow. For now, she had to bandage her arms and wrists, eat something, fall into bed, and try to forget the past two days. Tomorrow, unfortunately, she'd have to deal with the messages, the inquiries… and the usual Monday chaos of going back to school, then work.

For now, it was Sunday night, the sky barely darkening, and she had some serious recovery to do.

Despite her freedom, it wasn't over.

That much she knew.

Johnny had said as much himself, she remembered, as she sat in front of her mirror, combing the tangles out of her wet brown curls. Tendrils of cherry scented steam drifted out of the bathroom from her shower before she switched on the vent.

Resignedly, she studied the change in her appearance. Her face had grown thin. Her eyes had acquired deeper shadows, inside, and below. A thick streak of white had come in.

As nearly as she could figure it, she'd been kidnapped Friday night, had woken up Saturday and spent the day alone and in hopeless tears, then had been released around 7:30. A little over two days, but it had felt like an eternity. God… all the screams from other rooms… the darkness… the smells…

That had been a place of death… Simply being there sucked the vitality out of a person….

How could Johnny do that?

He seemed so sensitive, so vulnerable…

How could he live with himself?

Why did she care? —Simple answer: Stockholm Syndrome, she decided, in addition to the nurse in her; an integral part of her that called to her to care for those who needed it.

Johnny seemed to fall into that category: thin, fragile, emotionally needy. Delusional in every way—possibly a good subject for a good student psych paper?

Anyway, he'd spared her, so she owed him her life—a frightening thought, but she could help him.

Yet, doing so added normalcy to an otherwise terrifying situation.

She'd help him because it was what she did.

Then, maybe, she'd be free for real?

She sighed, breathing in the scents from her shower which now filled the small but cozy apartment.

A small smile flitted across her face as a memory, distant and ephemeral, flitted just as briefly as the smile, across her mind.

_Cherries…._

The scent of cherries and cherry blossoms in the air… 

She was at Nana's house, seven years old. Poppy, her step-grandfather, was taking Nana out on a date, so she was at the neighbor's house, playing with her first crush, the boy next door. His name had been Johnny, too. Johnny Ross, and he was two years older than her. He was taller than her, slightly thin with dirty-blonde hair and a mischievous smile.

They were playing in Nana's orchard.

The cherries were ripening, and some of the trees had rope swings on them.

Johnny was pushing her higher and higher, and they were both laughing.

He was older than her, so much stronger.

Who would have expected him to be dead less than six years later, from a heart defect?

But that day, everything had been perfect.

She'd gotten her first kiss that day, sweet and chaste, but so perfect.

And the smell of cherries had filled the air.

Years later, at age thirteen, she'd been holding his hand in the hospital (his parents were, as always, too busy to come) and he'd been so thin, so pale, but he still had that same old smile when they talked.

Seconds later, he'd been gone.

Like a candle blown out.

With him went the innocence.

The happy summers of racing around the fruit trees…

Watching shooting stars…

The firm belief that something in the world was good, even if nobody cared but her Nana and Poppy.

Johnny'd had nobody but her.

His best friend.

Since then she'd been committed to making the world better, not simply believing that there was better.

She would be a nurse.

She would help people.

She'd do it for Johnny Ross, who could never be replaced.

Nine years later, the scent of cherries still brought back the memory of those sweet childhood summers.

The sticky, sweet taste of her first kiss.

Nine years since he died, and she still avoided attachment until she could find someone like him.

She still wore the scent of cherries, in tribute to that love, to that innocence, which had out lived the boy.

Maybe if she helped this Johnny, who was a complete opposite of her Johnny, she would be free of the pain of that loss.

Maybe she'd finally be able to move on.

Nothing really touched her anymore.

In spite of all dreams, all the people in her life, the goals, the hopes, the stress and strain, she was nothing but a shell.

She wanted to feel something real.

Something other than the pain.

Perversely, she hadn't minded the thought of death so much as the thought of being unfulfilled.

Perversely, the fear, the hopelessness had been better, better than the numbness; they'd been real.

The tears she'd cried had felt like healing.

Better, they felt like feeling.

Better than the cheap release of dancing off the frustrated energy at a club, surrounded by other shells, who filled their metaphorical holes with drugs, booze, and sex.

"I think too much." Megan said to her nearly-unrecognizable reflection, stopping herself as her thoughts became entirely too uncomfortable.

Why do the happy memories always bleed to pain?

When will I feel happy about now?

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The next day, she answered her messages, catching up, helping where it was needed, provided token reassurances on her disappearance.

Then she dressed for class, comfy jeans and an oversized fuzzy blue sweater over a white tank-top, soft, sensible mocs on her feet. Usual small glasses, which she'd discarded last night carefully replaced.

She'd dyed the streak marring her light brown curls, covered the circles under her eyes with makeup.

Her hair was pulled up into a bun, sensible and neat.

Her lips were done in petal pink, pretty, but unremarkable.

The long sleeves hid the wounds.

A small amount of shimmer blush imitated a healthy glow on her thin cheeks.

Her usual cheerful expression was painted on, as well.

No one would know anything was wrong.

No one would ask.

She was so far from home anyway, so who would care?

Her parents never had.

The extent of their knowledge about her was that they'd never planned to have a daughter, but she was gone now.

A small, ironic smile touched on her features for a moment, then was gone as quickly as it had come.

As she went through the motions, exchanging friendly smiles with acquaintances, completing her classes for the day and going on to the work that made her feel alive, she felt eyes upon her in the distance, though all she could catch behind her was a fleeting shadow.

It was Him, she knew.

She could never escape Him.

So she ignored it.

Stopped looking over her shoulders.

Went back to the hollow machinations of 'life'.

Knowing, when she was alone, when she was home… He would be there.

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He hadn't expected her to be so hollow.

Of all the things to describe that girl, he never expected the word 'hollow' to come up.

Like a locket without the pictures.

Pretty, but empty.

Except when she worked.

At the hospital, the genuine concern and sympathy in her eyes was so real that he could feel it.

He wondered why it was that Spense was only alive when in a place most considered synonymous with death.

He wondered what had scooped out what had been inside.

He followed her like this for a few days before he actually made his presence known.

"Hello Megan." His voice cut through the silence in the small apartment.

She turned around, a small smile on her lips. "Hello, Nny. I wondered when I'd be seeing you again."

He shrugged, "You left the door unlocked."

"I didn't think a locked door would stop you if you wanted to come. Besides, I knew you would, so locking you out would have been rude."

"Why do they call you Spense?" He changed the subject, "It's hardly suiting."

She raised an eyebrow at the random inquiry, "I suppose it's only for lack of a better term, really. I've never been much of a 'Meg'."

"Do you like the nickname?"

"There are worse things to be called."

"I suppose." He agreed.

"Sit down somewhere." She suggested.

"I think I'd like to come up with something different to call you." He said as he sat down.

She nodded, "If it helps, my middle name's Laura."

"That works."

She smiled again, small, but more real than the first. "Would you like something to drink? I've got a few choices: Iced tea, Cherry Coke, orange juice… a few other things…"

He paused a moment, "Are you really offering me something to drink?"

She shrugged, "It's what friends do, I suppose." She replied, "Sit down and talk over drinks, I mean. Usually, alcohol, but I've never been a big fan, so I don't keep it in the house."

Johnny nodded, "That's smart… Friends… Is that what we are?"

"It's a bit more complicated, I suppose, but let's just leave it there for simplicity's sake."

"Oh. I'll have some cherry coke, then, if you don't mind."

"Okey doke."

"Laura?"

"Yes?"

"You confuse me." Johnny admitted.

"If it makes you feel any better, I get that fairly often."

"Ah."

"Sooo…" She handed him his drink and settled on the chair next to his, "How have you been?"

Johnny shrugged, "Why were you so nice to me that day? I had you attached to torture devices. I was planning to kill you. But when I broke down, you cared."

She sighed, giving a shrug of her own. "I'd like to say that it was Stockholm Syndrome." She said.

"Oh?"

She continued, "But it was more. As corny as it sounds, I guess I owe you. Going through my day-to-day seems so rehearsed, but for a moment, I was real, there. It hurt, but it wasn't fake."

"Oh." He said again, staring down into his drink. "I guess I'm not the only one who's broken, then. You looked so… normal. Quiet, but normal."

"I've had some practice. Maybe we could help each other?"

"I guess that's what friends do?" He asked, intrigued.

She nodded. "I suppose. Most of my other friends don't bother; they see what they want to see. You're real, Nny. I respect that."

A few days passed, this time they were in a new bookstore café. Nobody had yet mocked him, and he had yet to feel the urge to kill, to all in all, it had been a good day so far.

Laura sat across from him looking, unexpectedly right in a white peasant blouse embroidered with light pink flowers and a shin-length skirt. On anyone else the look might have incited him to violence, but he'd learned long ago that she dressed as she did for no one's benefit but her own. Her outfits denoted her varying moods. Today, she was calm, casual, with a touch of whimsy.

He noted what an odd picture they must make, two such opposite looking people sitting there, having a completely pleasant conversation.

"Laura," He said.

"Yeah, Nny?"

"I think it's only fair, by now, to tell you: I'm quite _horrendously_ insane."

A small smile decorated her unpainted lips, "Good heavens, you don't say!" Laura replied drolly.

"That's all?"

"Don't worry, Johnny, I got the memo. It was sort of a giveaway when we met by you dragging me off to your basement to kill me. Remember that?" She asked mock-reminiscently, "Good times, eh?"

"Sarcasm doesn't become you, Laura." He chided even as he tried not to laugh at her frank response.

She shrugged, "Like I care."

"So it doesn't bother you that I'm insane? Why is that, I wonder?"

"At least you're honest about it." She murmured. "Besides, you have your moments of lucidity. Sometimes you're quite insightful. Almost brilliant." She replied, toying with a chocolate chip biscotti.

"You think?"

"Mmhm."

"You really are strange."

"I can live with that." She replied.

A song by Nightwish came on the café speakers, playing softly.

We're walking in the air 

_We're floating in the moonlit sky_

_The people far below are sleeping as we fly_

_I'm holding very tight_

_I'm riding in the midnight blue_

_I'm finding I can fly so high above with you._

_Far across the world_

_The villages go by like trees_

_The rivers and the hills_

_The forest and the streams_

_Children gaze open mouth_

_Taken by surprise_

_Nobody down below believes their eyes_

_We're surfing in the air _

_We're swimming in the frozen sky_

_We're drifting over icy mountains floating by_

_Suddenly, swooping low on an ocean deep_

_Arousing up a mighty monster from its sleep_

_We're walking in the air_

_We're floating in the midnight sky_

_And everyone who sees us greets us as we fly._

Laura smiled dreamily.

"You like that song?" Johnny asked.

She nodded, "Johnny would have loved it." She said, without thinking.

"Huh?"

She sighed, "The other Johnny." She explained, "He was my first love."

"Oh." He said stiffly. "I take it he left you for someone with bigger breasts and less clothes?"

She looked him coldly in the eye. "Jonathan Ross died when he was only fifteen." She said. "I was the only one who came to his funeral. Everyone thought he was so strange, but they never really knew him." She continued, "He was an artist, and when I wasn't there, he was always alone." Her eyes went empty again, her face schooled back into its usual expression. "He was the one person I'd always thought would never leave me. But he was really the first to."

"Oh. For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

Her usual empty smile was back in place, letting him know he'd touched a nerve earlier, but she was willing to let it slide. "So, let's talk about you, Johnny. What skeletons lurk in your closet?"

"Somewhere along the line I stopped counting."

"I didn't mean literally, but thanks so much for that thought."

'Sarcasm again' he thought.

"If you're asking about my past, I really don't remember." He admitted. "I think that's part of my problem. Whatever I was, I don't think I'd recognize even the smallest fragment of my former life. The earliest thing I remember was the Wall."

"Do I wanna know?"

"Later."

She sighed, "Do you ever look at your life and want more, Nny? More that what's there, more than the here and now?"

"Go on…"

She sighed, "I should be happy right now… I'm single, I'm young, I'm independent, but when I get home, I just want to lose myself in a book, or in music, or both. To pretend I'm someone else… someone fulfilled. I feel like my only chance of happiness died long ago." Something sad and tender was revealed in her eyes. Her sudden trust, sudden vulnerability was terrifying him. When those deep grey eyes met him, he felt inexplicably moved to comfort her.

"Don't talk like that." He snapped, "I'm sure you'll meet someone and have many screaming brats."

She sighed, "I might've known you wouldn't understand." She tried again, "Haven't you ever wanted something peaceful? Something reliable? Something good to come home to? Haven't you ever wanted to… to be in love?"

"Love's dangerous." He replied. "Never real… Why? Do you?"

"I don't know where to look." She said. "Where to find that special person. Maybe you don't see the appeal in it, but sometimes love goes right. Sometimes you meet someone who makes you feel…I don't know… Right! And then something beautiful comes out of that, and you have children, little ones who depend on you and make you so happy. Children you'd do anything for…It happens sometimes. I know it does… God… I just wish so badly I could find that sort of life."

"If it could really be like that, maybe it'd be worth trying, but it just isn't. I've seen it, it's always the same thing. Things decay. Nothing good lasts. Friends leave, everything leaves. You'll leave one day, too. I'll probably have to kill you soon, in fact."

She sighed, giving him a sad look, " 'Nothing gold can stay,' is that it? What is life without hope?"

He had no response. But he had to say something. "I wonder, now that the thing in the wall is gone and I'm not a waste lock anymore… Could I die, if I wanted to?"

"Let's not test that one out, hun." She said softly.

That one always worked on her.

She seemed to have a vendetta against death.

He had an idea why, now.

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Days later, at the hospital, Megan was just leaving after a long day when a car, screeching out of the parking lot, nearly killed her.

All she caught was the impression of a dark-haired blur coming at her and a bright red blur rushing across where she'd just been standing.

After a dazed moment, she realized someone was holding her tightly.

'Well.' She thought, 'I have to open my eyes some time.'

Slowly, she did so. The man holding her was of medium height, with messy, curly black hair and bright, friendly brown eyes. He had a goofy grin on his face and adorable dimples.

He looked almost like Xander from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but about an inch taller.

"Close one there." He said lightly, in a voice with a slight Irish accent that made her heart speed up pleasantly. "Are yeh alright?" He asked in a more serious tone.

She nodded. "I think so… God, they came outta nowhere!"

He nodded, "That moron almost got yeh." He glared out in the direction the speeding motorist had gone. "Do yeh have a car?"

"Yes, I… had to park a couple of blocks away; there weren't enough openings."

"I'll walk yeh there, yeh seem a wee bit unsteady yet. Not that I can blame yeh, o'course."

"Thanks." She said, "My name's Megan, by the way, Megan Spenser."

"I'm Sean Doyle."

She smiled, "You saved my life, Sean. Is there anything I can do to thank you?"

"Yeh could let me take yeh out ta dinner this Friday." He suggested.

She nodded, "Perfect."

A time was set, numbers and addresses exchanged, and it was a very happy Megan that finally drove away.

As she entered her apartment, Megan was very surprised to find Johnny curled up like a cat on her couch, fast asleep.

"Awww." She cooed.

Quietly, she went to cover him with a blanket. As soon as the cloth hit him his hand darted up to encircle her throat. Suddenly panicked, she jumped back, managing to free herself, but ending up thrown hard against the ground, rubbing her neck, tears of pain in her eyes. Johnny stood over her, looking dazed and somehow, at the same time, wrathful. When his eyes finally landed on her, he seemed to wage some sort of internal battle.

"I probably should have warned you not to touch me when I'm asleep." He said, looking down with a troubled expression on his face. His tone bordered on apologetic.

She rose slowly. "It's ok, Nny." She said calmly, patting his shoulder gently, only once, so as not to make him uncomfortable. "I'm sorry I startled you. Did you sleep well?"

He shrugged, "Better than at home. I was a bit startled, but then I knew where I was. It's always better when I'm not at home…" He trailed off, looking bewildered.

She sighed, "Nny, hun—"

He smiled, "You always call me that."

Megan shrugged, "Habit, I guess." She explained. "I spent a lot of time in the south with my grandparents. It's warmer down there; friendly."

He nodded distractedly, "I've never been there; not that I can remember."

"Oh, you'd remember it. It's like another world."

His eyes lit with childish delight, "Can you show me sometime, please?"

Such innocence in such a dangerous man. She put on a smile, "We'll see. Maybe we'll go when spring comes around. I think you'd like it in the spring." She sighed, remembering what she needed to say, "Johnny, can I say something to you without you getting mad?"

He seemed to think about it, "Okeedokee."

"Johnny, I think your house is… hurting you somehow. You change when we're there, and it doesn't feel right. It's like something's in there, something… dead, but not, if that makes sense. Something that's always been there, and recently returned to awareness. And it's hurting you." Megan sighed again, frustrated, "Am I making any sense at all?"

He nodded slowly, "You might be right, actually. But that's my home. I don't know any other place. It's the only one I remember."

He looked so lost that she had to hug him. He stiffened instantly and she released him. "Sorry, Nny."

He shrugged, "Yah, yah, I get it; a cultural thing… Can we talk about something else? I don't like thinking about my house trying to devour me bit by bit."

"Sure. I almost got killed today." She said brightly.

Johnny blushed, "I said I was sorry for that."

"Oh, no." Megan said, "This was something else entirely. I almost got run over by a sportscar."

"Who do I have to kill?" He asked, as calmly as one might say, 'Is it raining?'.

"Nobody." She said smugly. "A guy saved my life, and then asked me out."

"Fuck! WHAT?"

She blushed, "His name's Sean, and he's so nice…" She sighed, "Those eyes… Gave me the full on tinglies…"

Johnny clapped his hands over his ears. "FUCK! Shut up! What the hell gave you any idea that I would want to hear this?"

Something inside her just broke. Closing her eyes a moment, she gathered her control. "I've listened to everything you've ever said to me Johnny C. From the major, to the minor, to the horribly traumatizing. I thought maybe once you could listen to something that was important to me. I thought maybe you might care about how big it is for me that for once I'm stepping out of my protective shell and taking a risk. That I'm finally moving on. I was under the impression that we were friends." She said coldly.

He still looked irritated.

Megan felt herself began to shake, emotion battering at her control. Leaning heavily against the wall beside her. "Johnny, I've had a long day. I need some alone time. I think you should go home now."

He raised his eyebrow, opened his mouth to speak.

She cut him off, "No. Do this, please listen to me just this one time, before I say…or do… something I'll regret."

After a second's baffled look, he turned and left.

A second after the door was shut, years of suppressed anger, suppressed frustration burst loose.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Laura asked him to leave?

The thought still alarmed Johnny.

The dangerous edge to her voice was alarming.

When the door shut, he heard something undoubtedly fragile crash against it, followed by loud, violent, inventive curses, as well as some ideas that, while he found them interesting, he knew it was impossible for the human body to bend that way. Or to take that much abuse… or to survive one of those through the—...holy flaming ass-biscuit! He'd have to try that last one on his next victim; pliers, angry ferrets, lawn gnomes and Vicks Vapo-rub? The possibilities!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Crash

"I AM SO DAMN—"

SMASH

CLANG

"Tired of putting up with everyone else's—"

CRAAAACK

SQUOOOOOSH

"Shit! Always gotta be the goddamn quiet one—"

WHIRRRRRR

"God forbid I want to date a sane, decent guy who I happen to be very attracted to!"

SHHHHHHCREEAAAAKBOOOM!

SplishityWEEEERrrrooowwwwwSpLaT

"But my new insane 'best friend' has to go all stupid kid brother on me and expect me to take it?"

BLAM

"Heeeeeeeellll no. I'm going on a date. Just because Johnny's the only friend I've made in this new town doesn't mean he controls my life. He hasn't been much of a friend anyway! HELLO! Tried to kill me?"

She sank down on the pile of debris, looked around a moment, then sighed, "Maybe Nana was right… Maybe I have been bottling up a bit too much." She muttered, feeling more like herself, "It just isn't healthy." The wounds on her arms and wrists ached. She winced, then jumped at an odd sound.

SHHHHHhhhhspllssssssssspoooooooo

Megan raised her eyebrow as some sort of unidentifiable slime fell from the ceiling.

"Fuck." She said slowly, "I'm so not going to love cleaning this up!"

Ok, that's all for now. To anyone noticing the conspicuous absence of Nny's voices, aka. Rev. Meat, at this point, he'll be in the next chap. This is basically introductory.


End file.
